Somethings Got To Give
by Larry1710
Summary: It's 1979, Voldemort is murdering muggles. Can Marianne handle Healing duties, the Order, her crush on that cute Lupin character and her arch enemy, Sirius Black? Something's got to give.
1. Chapter 1

16th June 1973 

Dear Diary,

Most people are excited when they leave school. It's been two weeks and already I hate being a grownup. I don't want to have to deal with this. This war. You Know Who. I'm supposed to be nervous about having to make my own way in the world, not about being blown up on the street by a muggle hating psychopath.

This is so much more than teenage angst.

Anyway, things to report. I have a job, as a waitress at the Leaky Cauldron. The parents were not pleased - sample of their reaction; "You think we spent all that money for you to go to a fancy boarding school to end up as a skivvy!" I tried to explain that my training as a Healer doesn't pay until I reach my third year and actually get to touch patients without supervision, but to no avail. I had hoped that now I'm eighteen (hurrah! Now I can legally drink!) that they would listen to me, but whatever.

I wanted to be an Auror, but I didn't get the grades. I can't make a potion to save my life - Slughorn despaired of me but I can't help it. Potions and cooking are so not my forte. I even managed to set tea on fire once. I like to think of it as a unique skill that I have. Of course, you need to be good at potions to Heal, but luckily, in my interview I skilfully passed over that, by flirting with the interviewer. Worked though. Was it Voltaire that said "I am a very moral person but I have no morals"? Either way, that may have been written about me.

Another good thing about not being able to cook is that your flatmate does it for you. Especially if your flatmate is training to be a chef and likes to try out new dishes on their best friend. Last night Jasmine made me this amazing duck and asparagus and something-which-may-or-may-not-have-been marmalade concoction and I felt like I'd died and gone to heaven. Sometimes I think I'm so lucky.

But as much as I love my best mate/private chef, other things are not looking up. Training at St Mungo's is utter shite. I'm only in the hospital three days a week, where I shadow this obnoxious man called Wartig, who is German and although I have nothing against Germans (although my dad does, having fought in the war) I hate Germany because it's the place evil came from. You'd hate him too, first of all, he smells of stale alcohol. Secondly, he's this misogynistic, condescending twat; "I do not expect you to be able to do this first time," he sneered, when I was wrapping bandages over someone's arm, "after all, you are only female." Delightful man, isn't he? But worst of all, he is arrogant and pompous. Although, he is a brilliant Healer with a mind like an encyclopaedia and has an amazing track record. But really, he told me I mispronounce my name wrong, my own name!

Of course, we get on like a house on fire. Not. We argue like it's going out on fashion, he constantly criticises me and challenges me and I have daydreams about hitting him over the head with a frying pan. I'm not exactly little miss passive myself though. Some have called me argumentative to a fault. He calls me the Firecracker. So, in retaliation I call him the Warthog. Surprisingly, he didn't kill me for his lovely new nickname. I have no idea why the head of the teaching hospital paired us together, I'm sure that I would learn so much easily with someone less aggressive and Warthog says I'm giving him grey hairs.

Working as a waitress isn't fun either. I mean, the Leaky Cauldron is a respectable establishment (apparently) and I occasionally serve Hagrid and he's always friendly, but the pay is lousy and men are always feeling me up. What is it about being a waitress? Is the word actually synonymous with easy and available, please treat me like crap? Tom is alright though. Let's me keep my own tips, doesn't harass me like Warthog.

And my love life? It's DOA. I said that to Jasmine the other day and she didn't know what it meant. Purebloods, honestly, they miss out on so much! I'm glad that I'm muggleborn, because I get the best of both worlds, I get to listen to the Rolling Stones and wear jeans and don't have to do the dishes because a simple spell can do it for me. Although there is the possibility that I might be killed any day now. Thinking about it, I'm not that worried, more angry. Who do they think they are, those Death Eaters? How dare they decide who is superior to who? God, it makes my blood boil.

Jasmine has a new boyfriend. He's called Greg and he's muggle and really cute. He works in advertising or something that makes a lot of money. They've not been going out long so they're in the honeymoon bliss part of the relationship where everything they do is a first - first kiss etc. It's nauseating, to be honest, but I'm happy for her. As long as she still cooks me dinner and does all her best mate duties.

Hmmm, nothing else to report. Oh, wait! Saw that dreamy Remus Lupin in that second bookshop on Diagon Alley - he was a couple years ahead of me at Hogwarts and I had such a huge crush on him. He helped me out with Potions homework once, except he was worse than me - well almost. I said hi to him in the shop but I don't think he recognised me. Bummer.

Well, tomorrow is Friday and I'm waitressing ALL DAY. I hope that Smelly Man isn't there again, although he always is. I've been working at the Cauldron for a week and I've already got names for all the regulars. I seriously need a little adventure in my life.

So? What dya think?


	2. Chapter 2

19th June 1979 

Dear Diary,

I just realised that I wrote down the wrong date in my last entry! Just goes to show how tired I am after training with Warthog all day at the hospital. Honestly though, I'm not sure why I wrote down 1973 instead of '79, pretty weird. My brother John would say it was a Freudian slip, but then again he is a psychologist and I don't understand his psychobabble. Although, I suppose it's a bit eerie as 1973 was the year I started at Hogwarts. Everything changed after that, I mean, how can it not? It's an especially big change if your Muggleborn like me.

Talking of Hogwarts, you'll never guess who I bumped into - literally - today. Sirius Black. He graduated when I was in fifth year and I thought that I had seen the back of him and that made me so happy. I may be the only hot-blooded female who can't stand him. God, he's such a bully. Today, I was strolling along, sandwich in one hand, bottle of coke in the other, enjoying the sunshine and my lunch break from the Leaky Cauldron, when BAM! Out of nowhere, this dark figure slams into me, making me stumble backwards and trip over, my coke bottle smashing on the ground and the brown liquid fizzing dangerously. So there I was, sprawled on the ground, feeling utterly humiliated because I was wearing a skirt and falling on the pavement in a skirt isn't exactly dignified and I look up and there is Sirius Black, smiling amusedly. It took a lot of self control not to whip my wand out and curse him into oblivion. He held his hand out to pull me up, which surprised me a lot, but I just glared at him, pulled myself up and was about to give him a piece of my mind when he spoke. "Are you alright, love?" in what he obviously thought was a "charming" and "dashing" voice.

This put me over the edge. How many times had that bastard knocked me over when I was at school and never bothered to stop, let alone apologise? Thousands, that's how many. He clearly didn't recognise me from our Hogwarts days and that hurt a bit.

"Get a new trick, wonder boy." And with that witty and cunning retort I stomped off. I really wish I could have thought of something better to say, something that would have shown him that I am sophisticated, smart and eloquent, preferably in ten words or less, but I just insulted him and left. I got a bit of a kick out of thinking that he was probably really confused over what I said, as he didn't recognise me. But still, it wasn't my best comeback. Or even a good one. Maybe I should tell you why I hate Sirius Black. It might be good to get it out of my system.

A long, long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away (I saw Star Wars with my Muggle brother and it was fab!) a young, innocent, kind, pretty and lovely girl was in her first year of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. She was totally spellbound by all the magic that the amazing castle held and was moseying along behind her roommate Jasmine to their first class, staring at the moving paintings-WHACK! This solid wall of a boy slammed into her and she fell over.

"God, Sirius, there's no need to kill the first years, just torment them a little," admonished someone really tall. Sitting on the floor, I was about level with their kneecaps.

"Didn't mean to, mate, they're just so scrawny, its hard to see them in the corridor." And with that, they walked off, leaving me on the floor in a state of shock and convinced I had concussion. I probably had this glazed look that I get when I'm confused that Jasmine says makes me look brain dead. A different boy leant down and pulled me up. He looked tired and peaky but kind, smiling at me with his amber eyes.

"Don't mind them, they're a bit immature but they mean no harm. Welcome to Hogwarts," he said and gave me a little push in the direction of my classroom.

What a welcome to Hogwarts, eh?

Jasmine was really jealous for a while, because on my first day, I'd met James Potter, Sirius Black and Remus Lupin, some of the most popular people in the school. Of course, she wasn't the one who was pushed over and then called scrawny. Talk about being adding insult to injury!

But of course, that wasn't the last time Black knocked me over, only the first. He didn't go out of his way to torture me, because the cool Sirius Black never bothered to try at anything, but even when I avoided him like the plague, he would always knock me over. He didn't do it on purpose, because he didn't even know my bloody name, but whenever I was in the same corridor as him, he would end up tripping me, pushing me, opening a door into my face, knock me down the stairs when he turned round suddenly, the list goes on.

And every time, he would hardly notice as if he was above it all and walk on without acknowledging me, so I never had a chance to yell at him, push him over, curse him, anything. Only daydream about it constantly. I hated him with the power of a thousand suns. This lasted for years. The other thing that really made me hate him was the disdain with which he treated others and the often cruel pranks that he played on other people. He was, in short, a bully. But the thing that irritated me the most is that everyone else thought he was this amazing, charming, Casanova and were completely blind to his arrogant, selfish qualities. He went through more girlfriends than socks and half the female population fancied him and he was on good terms with most people, except the Slytherins.

I dislike popular people. I was social enough, I mean I am a Gryffindor and I was friendly with most of my House and Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff (the Slytherins hate me cos I'm Muggleborn) but it was hard to convince anyone that Black was a prat. "He's so good-looking, though!" was the response I got, making me despair. Honestly, are good looks more important than basic decency? If Voldemorte was hot, would that make it okay then? Please! Someone once told me that he had a really bad home life and that he ran away from home at sixteen and I should make allowances.

As if that excuses pushing down three flights of stairs. I had to spend a week in the hospital bed as I'd concussed myself. If I had been excused from homework then it might actually have been worth it; but I wasn't.

Black didn't realise what he had done, as usual. In third year, I was convinced that I had been cursed, because the whole Black family hated me with a vengeance. Bellatrix, Narcissi - although they left when I was pretty young, never met Andromeda as she's a lot older than me, Regulus - he was in my year and Sirius. I read about a thousand books in the library and tried to eradicate the curse. Didn't work, but I did manage to set myself on fire more than once and turn myself blue when I sneezed. Madam Pomfrey was not amused. She said that I practically lived in the infirmary anyway and I didn't need to add to my injuries.

Then, two days into Fifth year, I was walking along to dinner, chatting to Jasmine and some Ravenclaw, all happy and hungry, when this Frisbee comes out of nowhere at the speed of light, and collides with my nose - and bloody hell I heard my nose crunch. I could feel it swelling up and my poor nose was dripping with blood. By this time I was crouched on the floor, moaning, Jasmine patting my shoulder sympathetically. I was facing the wall, so I suppose that Black couldn't see me, but I was livid when I heard footsteps and his familiar and hated voice saying "Found the Frisbee, James!" I stood up, fuelled by anger and pain, and also the thought that now he was in seventh year he was going to leave very soon so I could say whatever the hell I wanted to.

"Black," I said, making him turn round. The look of shock at my face, which was swelling and bleeding, probably repulsed him, made me smile evilly. "You are a bully. I hate you. If I could be bothered, I would stick a picture of your face on a dartboard and throw knives at it. That's the extent of my loathing of your existence. Since my very first day," Okay, so I was exaggerating a little bit, but poetic license, "you have pushed me over in corridors, down flights of stairs, thrown Frisbees into my face. And you don't even know my name. Are you a sadistic prat that enjoys physically hurting me? You think you're above everyone else, that you don't need to pay attention to your surroundings, cos you're too good for that. That it's okay to "prank" other people, because you're better than them. Well, let me tell you something, you can judge a person by how they treat those they think are inferior, not how they treat their betters. I don't care if you're in Gryffindor, you're no better than the rest of your disgusting family!" And after gleefully watching all the colour drain out of his face, and to my astonishment, actually look ashamed of himself, I picked up my bag and walked off, to go get my nose fixed. Jasmine followed me and gave me a high five. I couldn't stop smiling, despite the blood running down my face and the nose the size of a brick. No wonder small children ran away from the sight of me. But I was happy, I've always wanted to tell Black what I thought of him and now I had.

Anyway, after I got fixed up and my nose was it's normal size, Jasmine and I had missed dinner. Which was very upsetting, as Jas gets cranky when she misses a meal, so we headed down to the kitchens and asked the House Elves for some food.

"I can't believe that you said that to him!" cried Jasmine, her mouth half full. She has no table manners at all, it's quite funny, because she looks like a gerbil when she does that. I sighed with happiness.

"I can't believe that prat broke my nose. Bastard. And made us miss dinner. Is there no end to his evilness?" I said smiling. Jas snorted.

"C'mon, what about that time he knocked you into Snape and Snape poured coffee down you? That was far worse. Surely a veteran of pain like yourself can put up with a mere nose breakage." I threw some bread at her. "You didn't stop screaming for ages after the coffee incident. Or complaining. I thought about disowning you. This apple pie is a little dry." I snorted. "Who do you hate more? Snape or Black?" she asked, suddenly. I took this rare moment of thought from her to steal her apple pie. "I mean, on the one hand, Black is in our House, so House loyalty, but Snape has never given you reason to go on weekly trips to the Infirmary-"

"I've got my own bed now, did I tell you? Madam Pomfrey got this little plaque for me and stuck it above the bed on the wall. I think she wants to make me feel at home. Or maybe she's taking the piss."

"Snape is uglier though-" she mused.

"What's that got to do with anything? I have to see Snape three evenings a week for Potions tutoring, but I only see Black occasionally," I reasoned.

"Ah yes," agreed Jas, waving her spoon about, "But Snape helps you pass Potions, whereas whenever you see Black you get an injury." I conceded this was true. "Still, Snape doesn't like you cos you're a Muggleborn, whereas Black only accidentally makes your life a living hell," she pondered.

"Yeah, but Snape knows that he's not a nice person. That's why he's a miserable grumpy git. But he doesn't pick on people. And he doesn't think he's a good person when he's really not, like Black," I pointed out.

"Yeah, but Mari, Black isn't cruel, Snape is." I was not convinced at all. I was going to tell her how I wasn't joking about the dartboard idea when we heard a clanging and turned around, to see Black standing behind us, looking a bit shocked. He had obviously heard everything we had said and probably wasn't too chuffed at being compared to his arch enemy. Jas and I shared a look.

"Marianne, can I talk to you please?" asked Black. I raised my eyebrow. What did he want? Was he going to apologise? I stood up and walked over to him. Annoyingly, he was several inches taller than me but I held my head up high.

"Oh, look, wonder boy learnt my name. That makes up for years of bruises and broken bones." The sarcasm was almost dripping from my voice. Black flinched.

"I had no idea that I had ever hurt you. I'm sorry," he said, softly. His grey eyes seemed serious enough so I believed him.

"Don't bully anyone else ever again, then. If you're so tough, then why don't you defend the weak?" I asked, rhetorically. I wasn't about to simper and say sorry, however good looking he was. I walked to the exit, holding my head up high. Then I had to walk back and grab Jas who was staring at him with awe. No one had ever seen Black that humble before, usually he was being a cocky prat. But he never hurt me ever again. It was great and a long time coming. Whenever I walked passed him in the halls, he got out of my way, he stopped pranking people and I thought that my curse had been cured.

Of course, my life did not turn perfect all of a sudden, nor did Black and I become friends, or even exchange pleasantries. Snape got worse, sneered at me more often and was so condescending and patronising I was often on the verge of tears. And as soon as Black stopped knocking me down, his younger brother, Regulus, who was in my year, started picking on me. To be honest, I have no idea what it is about me and that family. When I was in second year, Bellatrix finally left and at the graduation ceremony I wept with joy; Bellatrix hated me for some inexplicable reason. Well, probably cos I'm Muggleborn and I accidentally sent a rumour around that she had some nasty sexually transmitted disease after she cursed Jasmine for spilling ink on her. There is something about me and that family, I am destined to not get on with them. Half way through Fifth year, near Christmas, I trudged up to the common room after a horrendous detention with Slughorn and Regulus; having been insulted and mocked by Regulus behind Slughorn's back for an hour, I was so upset and angry and livid and furious it had taken all of my strength not to curse Regulus and get myself another detention.

I hauled myself through the portrait hole and Jas stood up from a sofa and walked towards me, leading me back to the fire. "How was it?" she asked. Things between me and R. Black had been going disastrously recently; it really takes a toll on you when someone has it out for you and continually brings you down with name calling, harassing and cursing you when you're not looking.

"Peachy. If he calls me Mudblood one more time I may have to kill him," I said miserably, trying not to cry. I mean, I'm not weak, I have Gryffindor courage and all, but there is only so much a girl can take and between Black and Snape…Jas rubbed my back and was generally soothing but I was really down. I took all his hate letters out of my bag and started feeding them to the fire. Why did he have to pick on me? I wasn't alone, though, a lot of the Slytherins really had it out for the Muggleborns of the school and I didn't help myself by continually picking arguments with them, and telling them what I thought of them. But they had no right to do this to me. "I hate Black!" I cried, "Why can't he just leave me alone?"

Clearly my skirmish with S. Black was well known and I had shouted a tad too loud, because James Potter came up to me and said, "Sirius has gone out of his way to leave you alone. He's sorry about what he's done but-" and then his eyes saw the piles of papers that said MUDBLOOD on them in blood red ink caught his attention.

"Regulus Black," I corrected, wiping the tears from my eyes. "Go away." Bit rude to the Head Boy but I didn't care.

"Sirius, get over here," commanded Potter. He's the sort of person that you obey without thinking, he's got a quiet sort of authority. Black came over, saw the paper that I was trying to scrunch up but he grabbed it out of my hand.

"My brother?" he asked. I nodded, pissed off with them. Potter asked me why I hadn't told anyone. This I found a bit stupid.

"Oh yeah, what am I supposed to say? Regulus Black sends me hate mail - I can't prove it's from him. Regulus Black bullies me? I told Slughorn that I didn't start the fight but Reggie is such a good student and I'm not, no one believes me. So we both got detentions. And if I just ignore him like everyone tells me to - well, you ignore being constantly picked on and see how easy it is. I tell Dumbledore, he gives Reggie a second chance, and Reggie knows I squealed on him and gets his whole Death Eater gang on me."

For a head boy, Potter isn't that smart.

"You should have told me and then we'd look out for you," admonished Potter, crossing his arms. Sirius was still staring at the paper with MUDBLOOD across it.

"Oh really?" I said, not believing them. "Why don't you get Snape off my back too, while you're at it?"

"Okay, then," said Potter. I raised my eyebrows, sceptically.

"How you going to do that, then?"

"That's for me to know and you to not," he said, smiling. "Come on, Sirius, we've got some thinking to do." Black was still staring at the paper, looking really angry, I suppose Reggie is his little brother and it's hard to realise that your own blood is evil. I heard him mutter about giving Reggie a talking to that he'll never forget. Made me feel like Black wasn't all bad.

"Oh James?" I called, leaning over my sofa, after they'd walked back to their side of the room. He looked at me expectantly. "Cheers, I really appreciate it,"

"All part of the service," he said.

Potter is quite nice really. Lucky old Lily.

After that Regulus gave me this stilted apology and never bothered me again. I suppose I can give Black credit for that, which makes me a bit uneasy, I don't like feeling in his debt. But really, after all the infirmary visits, he owes me.

Gosh, I've written so much! It's really late now and I'm at the hospital tomorrow, bright and early. This diary business is addictive.

-

-

Heya, constructive criticism always apprecaited!


	3. Chapter three

23rd June, 1979 

Dear Diary,

Merlin's underpants! You would not guess the strange day I have had! It involves propositions, death eaters and philosophical discussions. Not the normal day in the hospital, I assure you. Usually there is bed pan cleaning (my fave), obnoxious patients ("It's a conspiracy, I tell you! The government clearly put the spoon in my intestines as a way of spying on my activities. You should watch out, lassie, you might be next, and I can tell you, having a spoon shoved up your arse isn't a kettle of roses!") and paperwork.

I don't want to jump the gun and tell the tale back to front, so this should be a good exercise in practicing the art of suspense. It all started at St Mungo's, I was doing some paperwork, utterly dull, when the Warthog storms in, looking excited and twitchy- an expression I had previously never seen on his ugly mug. Usually he just looks disgruntled or angry, I wasn't sure he was even capable of other emotions.

"Has someone got the plague?" I asked, uninterested. The Warthog only gets interested in cases if they're unusual diseases, like the plague, or the stupid witch or wizard has done something exceptionally moronic - once this guy had turned his arm into jelly. It's the nearest I've ever seen the Warthog to happiness.

"Come with me Varianne," he said, mysteriously. That's how he pronounces my name, with a "v" instead of a "m". I have tried to tell him that I can pronounce my name properly, but he insists I'm so incompetent I can't. I think he does it to annoy me, the sadistic git. Anyway, was slightly intrigued, so I did follow him. Paperwork is never an appealing alternative…to anything. It did slightly creep me out, though, seeing the Warthog smile, it looked unnatural for him. Usually I would feel sympathetic and romanticise him into some moody, brooding Byronic figure with a tragic past, but having met the Warthog, I know he's just a grumpy bastard who likes solving the puzzle of illness and disease. I was wondering what made him so happy, until we walked up the stairs to part of the hospital where I'd never been allowed before; the place where they treat the criminals. This made me slightly apprehensive, of course, but I'm only a first year, so I reckoned that the Warthog wouldn't let me near anyone really dangerous.

IT WAS ONLY A BLOODY DEATH EATER THAT WAS UP THERE!

I haven't been so excited since I saw the Rolling Stones Live.

I can't reveal the name of the death eater, because unlikely as it seems, someone might steal this diary, and as heavily as it is charmed might break into it and read it and use the information, somehow. Like what I write in my diary would come in handy for a prospective Death Eater. I'm not even allowed to reveal what I saw to anyone, I had to sign a government form swearing I wouldn't. I feel like a female version of James Bond, only less misogynistic and I didn't really do anything except heal a few scratches. I don't really get why the Warthog wanted me to come with him because I never learnt anything of any value - except how to treat the Curious Curse, and that's just some Calming Draught and bed rest.

Aurors are allowed to use the Unforgivables now - it was in the paper yesterday. I don't think they should allowed to use them, to be honest. I reckon it makes them just as bad as the Death Eaters and no one should have to go through that much pain, no one. Of course, I'm just a lowly first year trainee Healer, what does my opinion matter?

Anyway, despite being portrayed as the stem of all evil, this Death Eater, lets call him Bob, was very average looking. I always expect evil people to look evil, pointy nose, warts, yellow eyes, hunchback. Clearly I have watched too many Disney movies. The Warthog told me to check all his vitals etc; "If you mess it up, no one will care this time, so don't worry if you kill him, Firecracker," was what he said! The cheek! I have never messed up or killed anyone! I asked the Warthog how Bob had been caught and what he had been doing - but neither he nor the ministry official seemed inclined to tell me, the official even questioned my right to be there! It must have been something horrific, I suppose. He certainly had enough cuts and bruises to suggest that he'd been in a bloody fight. And he was considered dangerous enough to have a ministry official and two aurors watch him constantly.

He didn't seem to be at all worried. Bob, I mean. If I were captured by the enemy, facing a lifelong stay in Azkaban, or worse, the Kiss, then I'd be fecking shitting myself, for wont of a better phrase. But he was convinced that "his Master" would save him, that "his Master" loved him and would protect him. What an idiot! Voldemort would never risk his life for another! I'd done enough of psychology to recognise that Voldemort was a schizophrenic psychopath, who neither had nor wanted friends or equals. He only cares about himself and power, why would he risk himself to come get Bob? I certainly wouldn't, Bob was such a bore, droning on and on about his beliefs. Eventually I put a silencing spell on him, that's how annoying he got. But really, some people are so deluded. I'm a big believer in tough love, so I told him so. He just laughed and said the Dark Lord would reward him when he was reunited with him.

"If, crazy Death Eater, the definitive word there is if," I retorted, cleaning his head wound. Bob just lay there, as he didn't seem to care if he lived or died.

"We will be united," he replied, dreamily. "When all the Mudbloods die and only the real wizards reign." I snorted.

"This will sting. What exactly constitutes a "real" wizard, eh?" I asked.

"Wizards of pureblood ancestry," was the predictable answer.

"Well, Mister Death Eater, you never bothered to enquire about my ancestry, before I started healing you." At the point I was wondering why the Warthog wasn't saying much, usually he liked interacting with patients, if only to warn them about me and berate them for getting into the mess that brought them to St Mungo's. I wasn't really worried about him assessing me, because constant criticism from him has desensitized me to it. I think the world could throw pretty much anything at me, and I would just be like, is that the best you can do? The Warthog throws that at me on a daily basis!

"You are insignificant." I was told by Bob. Grateful man, isn't he?

"Oh, right. Insignificant am I? So I'm not the one healing your wounds, restoring your health? You just view me as some sort of servant, an inferior to be tolerated?" Bob's silence screamed his answer. "How sad. You think that I'm weak, dirty and not for for your company, but your hatred and disgust of me feeds only on fear. Your fear blinds you from the truth," it was strange, usually I get really angry at people like this, but I felt so calm, just patiently healing all the nasty cuts and pitying him for being so unseeing. "Filth, which is how I'm sure you think of muggleborns like me, are the ones healing you, feeding you, allowing you to live. You need us. Without us you would die, dwindling until you fade into an inbred bunch of pedigree dogs, all mutated and weak. I feel quite sorry for you."

Later, when I was back in the Warthog's office, doing yet more paperwork (there is no rest for wicked) the Warthog himself came in.

"You dealt with that surprisingly well," he said. I know! An actual complement from the Warthog…miracles do happen. "I had expected you to scream and faint, or rise to his bait, but you were cool, calm and collected. You showed courage and an understanding of how a fundamental Death Eater purist thinks. I am impressed."

By this time I was beginning to get a little bit suspicious. The Warthog hardly ever said anything that was not derogatory. What did he want?

"What do you want?" I asked, warily. He chuckled and flicked his wand at the door. He didn't say any words, but I could tell that he had put up some wards. Obviously didn't want anyone eavesdropping, which only made me more curious.

"I see I cannot fool you. You know that Voldemort is attacking muggleborns and muggles freely. Will you do something about it?"

It was quickly becoming one of the most surreal and dangerous conversations of my life.

Did I trust the Warthog enough to tell him what I really wanted to do? It's unsafe enough to voice any strong opinions these days, with people dropping off right and left like flies. I studied his impassive face for a moment. He was grumpy, misogynistic and a prat…but he treated all his patients the same and had no love of office politics or manipulating people; he was bold and blunt. Was taking me up to treat Bob some sort of test? Did he want to see how I would react when confronted by a Death Eater?

"I'm already doing something about it; I'm training to be a Healer, aren't I?" I said, testing the waters, wondering what I was getting myself into. He smiled slyly and raised an eyebrow.

"Ah yes, but would you really do something about it?"

"If I could, yes," I answered, somewhat hesitantly. He nodded, as if that was the answer that he expected.

"Then meet me at nine o'clock outside Faversham Street. Wear muggle clothing and bring your wand."

"As if I go anywhere without my wand!" I retorted, my mind still churning over this information. "Now go away, I'm doing paperwork." And he disappeared as suddenly as he appeared, leaving me to mull everything over.

So, here I am, mulling. What exactly does he want me to do? I have a sneaking suspicion that it has something to do with Dumbledore and the Order of the Phoenix, that I keep hearing rumours about whispered on corridors. A mate of mine, Flora, is a trainee Healer too, and she was saying how she heard a rumour that its this organisation that wants to stop Voldemort. She was well scared and she has good reason to be, because in the Prophet yesterday there was yet another attack - this time on a Muggle family, who had a kid at Hogwarts. Its like nowhere is safe anymore. Despite being a complete and utter gossip, Flora is actually scared by the news that keeps flying around, giants, dementors, Inferi and whatnot. I think she sees it as her patriotic duty to keep everyone informed.

It makes me feel useless. I want to be out there! In the thick of things, making sure that bastards like Bob know what I think of them and their racist, patronising, disgusting beliefs. I really want to do something about it. I suppose that's one of the major disadvantages of being Healer; you always get to see the end result but never be part of it. I totally feel that I'm at the side lines. I mean, war is upon is, I should be standing up.

On the other hand, do I really trust the Warthog enough? I'm not exactly the best judge of character, I'm a bit of a hothead (apparently) and what if he's misleading me? What if he's really in league with the enemy and he's just trying to root out all those who may stand up and fight (love that phrase, makes me want to get out there and kick ass!)?

I suppose that I'm at a bit of a crossroads now. I've got a shift at the Cauldron tomorrow, and after that I'm supposed to meet the Warthog - but should I go?

-

-

-

Clearly you have forsaken me, my readers, for I got hardly any feedback - although I appreciate the feedback I got. Is it because I spelt appreciate wrong? Apart from my spelling atrocities, you can tell me anything about my story, I would really appreciate (got it this time!) it. Cheerio, peeps!


	4. Chapter 4

Last time on Something's gotta give: Marianne has been invited by Warty to join the Order of the Phoenix...either that or he's trying to kill her. She's not sure she wants to go...to risky.

-

-

-

I didn't go. I sat at home and did some knitting.

Yeah right!! Of course I went, why would I pass up an opportunity like that?

And let me tell you, oh diary of mine, it was bloody unbelievable. I spent my whole shift at The Leaky on tenterhooks, I was so excited. Either I was going to join the Order of the Phoenix or the Warthog (Warty for short) was going to attack me and both options were equally exciting. I love duelling. It's like fencing, which I also love (but that may have more to do with the fact that men wear tight white clothing and lunge about the place) and it's just so physical and dangerous. Sometimes I wish that I had managed to get that O in Transfiguration so I could be an Auror just so I could duel more. Then I read in the Prophet the life expectancy of the average Auror and almost had a heart attack.

Anyway, after work, I pulled on some sturdy boots and a big black jumper that was almost as long as my mini skirt and I tied up my rebellious and completely crap hair. Why is my hair crap, you ask? Because it is; neither blonde nor brunette, curly or straight, it is blonette and struly. It could possibly be the bane of my existence, after Warty, Sirius Black and blood purists.

So there I was feeling like I was an important person going to do important things, Apparting to meet Warty, (and also a bit like a ninja, what with me being dressed in all black…or a female Severus Snape) when in fact I am but a lowly waitress and trainee Healer.

I had decided on wearing black as I thought that it would make me blend into the background, camouflage, you see. However, I needn't have bothered, for when I met old Warty at the appointed time, he was wearing Muggle clothes and Merlin's Underpants, some people should just not be allowed to dress themselves. A purple blouse, an orange and blue kilt and bowling shoes was what he was wearing; it looked like he had raided a charity shop while blind folded. I was AGAST, I tell you, that I had to be seen out and about with someone who was clearly so fashion backward but it's the seventies and luckily no one batted an eye lid. They probably thought he was on drugs. Do you know what the worst part is? Warty had the audacity to comment on my clothes! "Why are you wearing all black? It looks ridiculous."

I detest that man.

Anyway, after Warty's critique of my outfit, we scuttled around London for about an hour, and I really do mean scuttled. It was like we were trying to shake someone off, zig zagging left and right, back tracking and going around in bloody circles. He was not amused when I asked him if he was lost. I don't think anyone was trying to follow us. Paranoid moron. London, at night, is rather dangerous, mad and oh so very cosmopolitan. I saw a drunk hippie trip over his poncho into the gutter (I'm so glad it's not the '60s any more), several Indian women in full traditional dress having an argument, two teenage girls brawling on the ground, a young man being pummelled – I wanted to help him, but Warty grabbed my arm and pulled me away. And he calls himself a healer. I also saw several very well dressed men and women coming out of a building, speaking very loudly in plumy accents about holidaying in the Seychelles. I cannot count the number of times I saw groups of morons snorting coke in back lanes. And what with the colourful, dingy, scruffy and lewd clothes, the flares, the men wearing heavy jewellery and fur coats, the prostitutes hanging round, the smell of cigarettes and the beer bottles rolling around the pavement, I thought to myself, it's a wonderful world.

Or I would, if I were Louis Armstrong.

Anyway, Warty led me into an old factory or warehouse and up some stairs into a big empty room, where the paint was peeling from the walls and the carpet was this mouldy brown colour and looked like it was rotting. From the disregarded crisp packets and newspapers that were strewn around the floor, it looked like it had squatters. I could tell we were near the docks from the god awful stench of sewage, and I could tell we were in the presence of wizards and witches, from the crackle of magic I felt somewhere behind my eyes and the breathing. It is so creepy to be able to hear breathing, however faint, in a room where your eyes are telling you that there is no one there.

Another thing, I could tell that Sirius Black was in the room.

"Well?" I asked Warty, who just raised his eyebrow, probably trying to look mysterious. What a loser.

There was a pause, where all I could hear was the wind banging against the window panes, and my own foot tapping. I'm not particularly patient and Warty gets on my nerves. So I did the only thing I could do in the circumstances, I pointed my wand at the only person in the room I could see and threatened him with bodily violence unless he got the other people in the room to reveal themselves.

"Varianne-"

"It's Marianne, you doughnut, it's an M, M for magic, moron and misanthrope, three things you embody."

"What makes you think there are other people in this room?" he asked, his blue eyes glinting at me, almost daring me, and challenging me.

"One, I can here them breathing, two, I'm a witch, I can feel the magic in this room, and three, Sirius Black is in this room and he never goes anywhere without his little sidekicks," I told him. Warty's eyebrows both rose at the last reason and I swear I could hear whispering at the other side of the room. Now, Warty knows about my arch enemy, Mr Sirius Black, because I often compare them to each other in his presence. But I've not told him about what I call my Sirius Sense, mainly because it's a bit weird and embarrassing. But I felt that I should explain. "I can always tell when Sirius Black is within 10 feet of me…if I were a dog my hackles would raise, I know that whenever Black is within 10 feet of me I get this feeling of anticipation and shortly after I'm in serious pain."

Warty looked at me a bit funny. But then again, I suppose that I was holding him by wand point and by his apparent nonchalance at this, he probably found it a bit of a joke.

"Interesting," he said, "Very interesting."

And then, with a blast of cold air, the people who were in the room appeared.

-

-

-


End file.
